


Coruscanti Rose

by emocezi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, I haven't decided yet, Mace Windu might show up, exotic dancer au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 14:12:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9495008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emocezi/pseuds/emocezi
Summary: There’s only one Jedi who fits that description and Obi-Wan hadn’t seen him since he was eleven and still in the creche, when Qui Gonn Jinn had looked right past him as if he hadn’t existed and dashed every hope Obi-Wan had ever had about being a Jedi.Fuck.He grabs the glass of wine sitting beside him and guzzles it.What the fuck is Qui Gonn Jinn doing in a dancing club on Coruscant? More specifically, what is he doing in the club Obi-Wan owns and dances in?





	

**Author's Note:**

> So. I don't actually remember how this got started. I know olorisstra had something to do with it. Anyway, please enjoy Obi-Wan the dancer. I might do more of this, I might now, all depends on my mood.
> 
> :)

“There’s a Jedi in the audience.” Selena murmurs to Obi Wan as he gets ready for the evening, swiping a subtle gold shimmer over his skin.

“We’ve had Jedi in here before.” Obi Wan says, voice calm and collected. They come in to see about the rumors of a dancer who can use the force.

Selena chews on her bottom lip and nods before she goes to fix her lipstick.

Two Twi'lek women slip into the back room, giggling to each other.

“He’s so tall.”

“And did you see his hands?”

“And those beautiful eyes. He looked at me and I swear he could see everything I’ve ever done. I wanted to climb into his lap and confess all my sins.”

Obi Wan feels his stomach drop out. There’s only one Jedi who fits that description and Obi-Wan hadn’t seen him since he was eleven and still in the creche, when Qui-Gon Jinn had looked right past him as if he hadn’t existed and dashed every hope Obi-Wan had ever had about being a Jedi.

Fuck.

He grabs the glass of wine sitting beside him and guzzles it.

What the fuck is Qui Gon Jinn doing in a dancing club on Coruscant? More specifically, what is he doing in the club Obi-Wan owns and dances in?

XxX XxX

There’s no way, absolutely no way, Qui-Gon Jinn should recognize him. At eleven and a half, Obi-Wan Kenobi had been soft, cheeks still chubby with the baby fat that would see him through a growth spurt that was still a few years off. His hair had been as orange and unruly as a Thorin root tuber, not even the Wookie crechmaster had been able to tame it, even with all her creams and conditioners.

Obi-Wan studies himself in the mirror, dusting shimmer over his cheekbones before he deems himself worthy of the stage. He’s come a long way from the boy Qui-Gon Jinn had deemed unworthy. A long way from the boy who’d been bullied and teased by Bruck Chun and the other padawans in his age group. A long way from the angry, hurting child who’d been ejected unceremoniously from the only home he’d ever known. 

He’s made someone of himself. Someone important. Someone people want. Someone people keep coming back for. 

The old hurt flares and Obi-Wan sneers at his reflection and dabs a deep red gloss over his lips and whirls away from his mirror, the gauzy material around his hips and thighs flowing softly with the sharp turn. He starts to center himself, starts to calm himself and then stops.

Fuck. That.

Qui-Gon Jinn. Jedi Master of the living force, had taken one look at him. One. Look. When he’d been a child. A _child._ The hurt turns into rage, rage at the order that had turned him out with nothing but the clothes on his back, rage at Old Master Yoda who’d promised him a place as a Jedi and been just another liar in a sea of lying Jedi scum. Rage at the daring audacity of the man who’d been the cause of every hurt and humiliation Obi-Wan had suffered since he’d been eleven years old. 

How dare he show his face here.

Qui-Gon Jinn wants to see what’s become of Obi-Wan Kenobi? Well. Obi-Wan Kenobi is going to make sure the old bastard gets his money’s worth.

XxX XxX

He takes the stage, fury tasting like copper against his tongue. A change in music has been made, and when it starts, it’s not the soft crooning voice of a women, singing about the caress of a fantasy lover. No, when the music starts, it’s the sound of battle, hard and unforgiving and brutal.

Obi-Wan dances, body moving in the familiar stances of soresu and ataru and even a few sharp movements of vaapad he’d learned from Master Windu, who’d taught him self defense after he’d gotten beaten bloody in an under city bar brawl when he was fifteen and stumbled into Mace in an escape attempt from the gang he’d cheated out of a weeks supply of death sticks. 

He dances for the Jedi in the audience, though it’s the farthest thing from a tribute. To the majority of his patrons, those who’d never been anywhere but the outer gardens of the Temple on celebration days, his dance looks like just that. But to the Jedi, Obi-Wan hopes the man sees it as an act of outright war.

His chest is heaving by the time the music ends, and he finishes with a soresu opening pose, his left arm bent up over his head, a loose fist formed, like he might be holding an object. His right arm extends, one long line from shoulder, to the two fingers pointed directly at Qui-Gon Jinn.

The man looks stunned, and Obi-Wan takes a very small moment to feel pleasure, and then the lights go out, leaving the club in absolute darkness so Obi-Wan can vanish from the stage. It only takes a few seconds, and then he’s back in his dressing room, the door closed and locked tightly, and Obi-Wan sheds his costume, tearing fabric in an effort to get it off.

He moves into the refresher, and steps into the shower, turning on the water and letting it wash over him, letting it wash off the face paint and the glitter and the carefully coiffed hair until he’s not the Coruscanti Rose anymore. Until he’s just Obi-Wan again.

He stands there for half an hour, until all the rage and grief he’d thought was long since gone, is purged out into the force. He hasn’t done this in years, hasn’t needed to, and it takes him longer this time. The force wraps around him like the arms of a loving parent and it takes what he hurls into it’s vast expanse, asking nothing in return. 

Finally, Obi-Wan turns off the shower and towels off, wrapping a thick robe around himself and stepping out of the refresher to call for a meal. He stops in the doorway, the towel in his hand plopping wetly to the floor.

“It’s been a long time.” Qui-Gon Jinn says from where he’s seated on Obi-Wan’s plush couch. "You look well.“

"Get the fuck out of here.” Obi-Wan snarls and grabs the first thing he can get his hands on, whipping a metal tea cup as hard as he can at Qui-Gon and splattering cold tea over the couch and the Jedi. Qui-Gon jerks back, looking stunned, as if he’d expected Obi-Wan to leap into his lap, joyful and pleased to see the man who’d ruined his life with a single, cold stare.

“Obi-”

“No.” Obi-Wan slashes a hand through the air. "You don’t get to call me by that name. You call me Ben or Kenobi.“

"Ben.” Qui-Gon’s voice has gone from jovial and pleased to cautious. "Mace told me you danced here. I came to see if he was telling the truth.“ 

"Of course he was telling the truth.” Obi-Wan sneers it, deciding to go for the lowest, hardest hit he can manage. "He’s a regular _patron_ of mine after all.“ Qui-Gon’s eyes go wide and his face pales and Obi-Wan feels vicious pleasure knowing his blow struck home. 

"I should-I need to go.”

“Yes. You do.” Obi-Wan crosses his arms, watching Qui-Gon with cold eyes. "And Jinn?“ He waits until Qui-Gon looks up at him. "Don’t come back here. You’re not welcome.”


End file.
